


Such is Being Married to a Consulting Criminal

by Ozymanreis



Series: The Other Game [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Honeymoon, Kidnapping, M/M, Parentlock, Romance, Then badness, Travel, Wedding Night, Wedding Rings, consulting husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1558637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozymanreis/pseuds/Ozymanreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim takes Sherlock for a special getaway ;)  </p><p>Short, some plot. Tons of fluff! Then tragedy. </p><p>Part 4 in "The Other Game" series, following about a month after "Life Happens Fast."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Negotiating with A Consulting Criminal

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not a fan of Parent!lock, you might want to skip this over, the next one will still make sense without it, though you'll lose a lot of context.

**[Three months prior to departure]**

 

"Can you say, ' _daddy?'_ _Daaaaaddy?_ " Moriarty coos, bouncing William slowly on his leg, the baby chortling in delight. It was a quiet Friday morning, Jim sitting in the living room, Sherlock still dead asleep. Or at least, Jim had assumed. 

"He's three months old, and thus far too young to start speaking, all the books say so." Sherlock murmurs, stalking into the living room. No matter how old he was, he'd continue to be grumpy upon waking. 

"I know that, _doofus_. But the books _also_ say it's important to be encouraging and talk to him often!"

Sherlock rolls his eyes, "Continue sounding like an idiot, then." 

"Is something wrong, love? You're usually acerbic this early, but you don't generally insult me _seriously_."

"No. Did you see where I put my severed head?" 

"It's in the icebox on the back porch." 

"Thanks."

"But something _is wrooooong._ You know you can't hide anything from me."

The detective just winces as he considers putting clothes on before going outside. It was a rather large, privately fenced-off backyard, so there'd be little chance of being seen. However, it was cold outside and the sheet was thin. He sighs and collapses close to Jim on the couch. 

"Right? _Daddy_ can't hide anything from _me_. _Daaaaaddy!_ " Moriarty coos.

"Ugh, shut _up!_ "

"Hey! Not in front of the baby!" James lightly smacks Sherlock's leg through the sheet as William began to fuss, "You'll upset him."

Sherlock shot him a sour look, " _Sorry_." 

"You should just tell me what's eating at you; I promise I won't ridicule." 

"… I hear it's somewhat traditional to go on holiday after marriage." 

"We've been married about six months, dear. Getting antsy for some _alone time_?"

"We get plenty of 'alone time,' _dear_ , but I was looking to go through some of the more official motions of our relationship…"

"Admittedly, they are _fun_." 

"And seeing as we never had a _wedding_ —"

"Do _not_ start on that." Moriarty says stiffly, but keeps a whimsical smile on his face whenever he looks at the baby. 

"I wasn't suggesting that we did."

"Good." William utters a string of cheeping noises.

"I was just hoping to do… _something_ official."

"Just a honeymoon, then?" James flashes his trademark smile suggestively at Sherlock, giving him a very slow once-over, "I'll make arrangements soon enough."

"Fine, I'm going back to bed."

"Have fun with that, dear. I might join you shortly." 

Sherlock shrugged and slogs back to their room.

When Moriarty was fairly certain his beloved was out of earshot, he turned back to William, "Can you say ' _murder?'_ Hmm? _Muuuuurderr?_ "

William giggles.

"There's my future criminal heir!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was initially going to be a oneshot, (I think I've said that about everything I've written so far...) but my plot pixies wouldn't let me. This story is more of a lead-up to the next, which I've plotted out as being *much* darker (so enjoy the happy-sweet-cotton-candy-fluff while you can).


	2. Making Arrangements with a Consulting Criminal

"I swear, we're only doing this because I need a vacation." Jim grumbled, unpacking his suitcase on the rather oversized bed. He had been making the same statement for the past few weeks, setting aside this week for what they were calling a "belated honeymoon."

They were in the penthouse suite at a rather lavish hotel in Honolulu. It wasn't Sherlock's first trip to America, but it was his first time on a tropical island. It was very warm, and they had only gotten in about an hour ago, including the time it took to be driven to the hotel. But it was heartbreakingly beautiful — while the sun had already set, he could vaguely hear the crashing waves on the beach below, "Of course; sex holiday is generally a good excuse to take a few days off."

"As much as I love the bluntness of that statement, it does take some of the romance out of it."

Sherlock smirked at the contradictory nature of that sentence — it had only been about six months since the birth of their son, and while it was difficult to get moments alone, they still managed to keep the romance alive. _Very well alive_ , the detective continued his sly smile, flopping down on the opposite side of the bed from his partner's belongings, _Thankfully, William seems to sleep through the night consistently._

Yet, whenever Sherlock made any mention of time away together, especially if it pertained to them being _married_ , Jim got uncomfortable. He was willing to sweep him away for a few days, but only for the purpose of coupling. But that wasn't what Sherlock was after. It was a slow war, involving lots of small battles and exchanges. Thankfully, James had seen through his ploys to the bigger picture, and had been working his way up to being amenable. 

Talks yielded a lot of information: neither of them were too keen on an actual wedding, seeing as any sort of press would put them in harm's way. Neither was religious, so they didn't want a priest to preside over them, or be in the church. However, Sherlock wanted to wear a ring. James agreed. They picked two out, and had them fitted, but Jim didn't want to make a big deal of exchanging them. 

Sherlock disagreed.

Finally, about a month ago, Jim gave in, "Fine! But I am in charge of the planning." It wasn't that simple, of course. Their son was still a well-kept secret, as far as Moriarty's network was concerned; in the eyes of other criminals, he'd fetch a hefty ransom, or be an excellent bargaining chip. 

Thankfully, Mary had convinced John to watch him for the week. Sherlock assumed it was some leftover guilt for shooting him in the chest, and maybe a long-standing threat from James, but whatever the reason, he was grateful. Still, Jim dragged his feet through planning. But in the end, had come to rather luxurious compromises. 

So yes, when James Moriarty was grumbling about _lack of romance,_ Sherlock couldn't help but grin, "On that note, I'm going to take a bath. Do you want to come with me, or would you like to continue your tirade?"

"Both." Moriarty chirped, his glum mood immediately evaporating. 

_Slowly, I'm learning the little tricks that work on Jim._


	3. The Unpredictability of a Consulting Criminal and Your High Official Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to upload this story quickly, because I honestly think #5 will be more interesting (whenever I finish... grrrr...). But I also love exploring the relationship — I'm a huge fan of long-running fics that span years. It's so wonderfully intimate to see character development, backstory, being able to look back fondly on things, as if it's your own memory.
> 
> Oh yeah, I eat that up.

**[One month prior to departure]**

 

_How are things going at the Holmes-Moriarty household? -L_

 

Up until he heard the text chime, Sherlock had been creating varying concentrations of aqueous solutions with ammonia instead of water. _Suppose I can take a break…_ He backed away, taking off his face-mask that had been preventing him from passing out, _Thankfully this room is well-ventilated._

It was the first text from Lorna that Sherlock had received in months. He couldn't help but smile a little — her insights proved useful almost every day, as living with Jim was still so _new_ of an act, and the fact it was almost impossible to really know someone so soon.

 

_Holmes and Moriarty separately. Little William has taken to crawling around unsupervised. -SH_

 

_Aww, not wearing rings or each other's last names. Pity, the world would be more interesting with more of you running around. -L_

_And wait until he can properly walk :P -L_

 

_Good thing we spend days on baby-proofing. Though, I'm starting to see James' point that our child might require more precautions than others… and we prefer to be private. -SH_

 

_Two genius dads, what could possibly go wrong? And private? You have a baby. -L_

 

_Little thing might get into my cadavers… -SH_

 

_Early start on his medical career? -L_

 

_I'm sure if James has a say in it, he'll get into *his* profession. -SH_

 

_Well, maths certainly seemed to work out for Mr. M. -L_

 

Occasionally, Sherlock forgot about Moriarty's not-so-secret life as a respected member of the academic community. _He's just blended the two so seamlessly…_ He considers responding, but he isn't sure what to say; he enjoys clever double-entendres, sure, but keeping up the lie is somewhat tiresome. 

Just then, he heard the front door open. Then shut. _Visitor? It can't be a client of Jim's, he'd never let them near the baby… a friend? Does Jim have proper friends? Associates, at best —_ a text chime interrupted his thoughts. 

 

_How do you like being a parent? -L_

 

_It's… challenging. But I'm quite happy. -SH_

 

_That sounds about right. -L_

 

_Why do you ask? -SH_

 

_Just checking in ;) If you're happy, it means my involvement was worth it. -L_

 

_Oh. Well thank you. -SH_

 

_And possibly worth repeating. -L_

 

_Thinking about having one for yourself? -SH_

 

_No ;) -L_

 

The detective wasn't exactly sure how to respond to that, so he put the phone away. He considered returning to his experiment, but eventually decided to see what James and William were up to. 

To his surprise, Mycroft was sitting on his sofa, looking a bit bemused, "Hello, Sherlock, burning down the house again?" 

 _So this was the mystery visitor… I wasn't aware he and James took high tea together,_ "That has only happened _once_ in my life _,_ and what are you doing here?" It was then that Sherlock realized that William was nestled in Mycroft's lap. _Well, that explains the slight bewilderment…_

"I invited him, honey." Jim said, sitting on the opposite couch, "I thought William and uncle Mycroft could use some quality time." 

"Mmm, yes, I can only imagine how much a grown man and a 5-month-old have in common." The (secret) head of government snorted. 

"Oh, it's not about that and you know it!" James teased, "He's part of your family now."

"Is this just payback for the dinner?" Mycroft asked, slightly flustered as the baby tugged at his tie, "I really didn't think mummy would take such a liking to you."

"It was delightful! I thought since you were gracious enough to let me into your family, I had make sure you were involved with _mine_." 

"Did I give the impression I was interested?"

"Aren't you?" Jim grinned evilly, _The Holmes boys like to think I can't see past their inane façade… painfully transparent, really._

Mycroft was speechless, choosing this moment to allow William to gnaw on his fingers. 

Sherlock was pleasantly surprised by the conversation unfolding before him: the idea hadn't even crossed his mind that Mycroft might be interested in his nephew, but now that James had brought it up, he couldn't imagine it any other way. _It also doesn't hurt to see Mycroft so uncomfortable…_

No matter how much time passed, Moriarty would always be a sore point for the government official, "I suppose there is some value in bonding with the little one…" _Especially if it means I might spend more time with my baby brother…_

Despite the inherent discomfort he felt whenever he had thoughts like that, Mycroft truly missed having Sherlock so easily accessible.  _Married life certainly does change a person... pulls them away, occupies them, makes them difficult to snatch them up with helicopters and subterfuge._

But looking at William, Mycroft's heart melts a bit (but not his face — he'd never break the carefully controlled visage), deciding that giving up some of Sherlock's freedom was worth having a darling nephew. For a moment, he's hit with a wave of nostalgia; the resemblance between William and his little brother was striking, and having the child so close, he began to see a baby Sherlock. 

He almost wants to apologize — he feels seven again, bored by the prospect of an infant around the house. Still, the instant seven-year-old Mycroft laid eyes on his new brother, he was in love. That didn't stop him from getting  _annoyed,_ far from it. He could've extended more compassion, more comfort, been more nurturing to this new creature. But instead he was obliged to put him through everything he went through those first seven years (and subsequent 4 when Sherlock couldn't formulate real sentences) alone: absent parents, no one to talk to, loneliness, forced exile from his less intelligent peers. The way eyes would stare at him in disdain. 

It's at this moment that Mycroft makes a silent vow to protect William the way he should've for Sherlock. 


	4. Exchanging Vows with a Consulting Criminal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently somewhere around Death Valley... Internet is sparse and varied. Will post as I can — it's a beautiful world out here, though!

"When would you like to exchange rings?" Sherlock asked, watching James wake up. It was sometime in the afternoon, both of them having slept in and heartily jet-lagged. It was somewhat sentimental, reminding Sherlock vaguely of their first morning together. _Except I was unaware he'd been there…_

Moriarty groaned and reached over to the bedside table for his phone.

"I'm serious!"

"I have it planned out, _dear_." He typed a string of letters on the small keyboard.

"What are you doing?"

"Telling my men to be ready in three hours." 

"What?" 

"My love… if we're going to do this, we're going to do this right." 

_Three hours…_ "Something going on at sundown?"

"Isn't that traditionally the best time for romantic acts?"

"I suppose… why are you getting your men?"

"So they can prepare the helicopter, of course."

_"Of course" he says… as if it's so obvious,_ "Why are we taking a helicopter?"

"Sherlock, it's about four thousand steps to the top. I don't know about you, but I'd rather save my energy for _other_ things." He ran a cold finger down Sherlock's bare midriff. 

Shivering at the sensation, the detective latched on to the first thought that came to mind, "You just didn't want to mess up your suit."

"Are they mutually exclusive?"

Sherlock let a beat pass — he often wondered how much Jim was motivated by the will to stay pretty, "To the top of where?"

"The Haiku Stairs."  

"Aren't those… off-limits?"

James cast him a playfully dark look, "In the world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king." 

"Is this part of your crown?"

"In which you are the most beautiful of gems." He lightly stroked Sherlock's face, "More so than any I have ever stolen."

 

* * *

 

The helicopter ride up was beautiful — _everything on this bloody island is perfect…_ he thought, _If you ignore the heavy industrialization…_ While Sherlock enjoyed the city of London for it's wonderful historic architecture, the same couldn't be said of Honolulu: it was all new. The landscape was a breath-taking artifact of natural construction, carefully crafted over millions of years. The man-made buildings, however, were made to appeal to the modern tourist. 

Still, he could enjoy the smell of the ocean, the various calls of indigenous wildlife, the local plants with entirely unique properties (he secretly hoped he could sneak away from Jim for a few hours to secure a few samples), the volcanic mountain ranges (not to mention a few dormant and extinct volcanoes), and the distinct feeling that the land was _alive_. As he peered out of the machine, witnessing the cascading sparkles on the sea, he realized no high could compare to the view. 

Breaking him out of his trance, Jim nudged Sherlock to say they would be landing soon. The vague outline of the Haiku Stairs on the mountainside appeared, leading to a small tea cottage. "That's the place?" He asked dumbly, still coming out of the landscape-high.  

 

* * *

 

They took each other's left hands into their right, rings poised to be slipped on. "Ready?" Sherlock asked. Jim only nodded, outwardly rolling his eyes, but in truth, resisting the urge to tear up in joy. 

"James Moriarty. I love you." 

"Sherlock Holmes. I love you far more than you will ever know." 

Sherlock scowled, his face perfectly saying: _That isn't the point of this_ , "Do you promise to love me forever?" 

"Or until either of us becomes boring?"

"Of course — I thought that was implied?"

"I wouldn't shame either of us by promising any less." James smiled, adding, "I do."

"As do I." 

"Do you promise to honor me, my pet?" 

"I respect you with all that I am." 

"As do I." 

"Do you promise to… uh… what comes after that?" Sherlock fumbled.

"Traditionally, I believe it's to _obey_ … but I won't do that, dear Sherlock, unless it's _really_ naughty." A steely glint appeared in the criminal's eyes.

"Well… then…  So long as we both shall live?" The sleuth smirked, the mildest traces of pink apparent in his skin. 

"I do." 

"And you won't be the cause of my death?"

"A world without you isn't worth living in, gorgeous." 

"That's not a yes."

"I won't. You have my protection. As long as I have your word as well."

"Of course." 

"Not that you could ever best me, my dear." 

_Feels more like an interrogation_ , the criminal thought, _but I guess that's appropriate_ , _we never were traditional anyway._

They slid the rings on each other's fingers, "Now you have to _wear_ it." Sherlock scolded, pinching his side softly.

"That is rather the _point_ , my pet."

Their lips met just as the sun went down. 


	5. Partnership with a Consulting Criminal

**[Three days prior to departure]**

 

"Do you want me to do the packing, love?" Jim crooned, poking his head into William's room. His scrunched up his features as he realized the room was utter chaos — clothes everywhere, toys strewn about with little regard for walking, and their son trying to stand himself up against the dresser while Sherlock was trying to stuff diapers into a duffle bag.

"You packed _our_ luggage, let me do _something_ to help."

"Your sexy presence is enough, my pet." Moriarty crooned, tiptoeing around the various objects and sweeping up William before he toppled over. 

"Flattering as that is, I think you don't have confidence in my ability to pack a bag. For a _baby_."

"Just making sure he'll have everything he needs."

"We'll only be gone a week!" 

"Dear, you don't even know what _you_ need for a week!"

Sherlock scowled and tossed the bag at James' feet, "Fine. I'm going to go dissolve pig teeth in acid." He began to tromp out before being halted by a firm hand on his shoulder, "Perhaps you want to spend a little time with our son? And _no_ , we already agreed to no chemicals around the baby." 

Sighing, the detective turned around and took William, "I will miss him." The baby fussed, fisting his curls, "Ahh! Shh, it's okay." Sherlock tried to disengage the little fingers from his hair, to no avail, "Ouch!" 

"Getting pretty strong, isn't he?" Jim chuckled, sorting through the mess his husband had made, ferreting out the necessary objects. 

"Erg!" William had begun pulling.

"Afraid you'll have to deal with that on your own, you've managed to spread the essentials everywhere but where they're needed." 

Sherlock rocked gently, comforting the child enough to get him to relinquish his grip, "Sorry, I really do like my hair or I'd let you have it." William giggled as Sherlock brushed through his burgeoning brunette waves, "But it looks like you're working on some of your own."

"I think he needs a bath, can you take care of that?"

For a moment, the only sounds in the room were of Moriarty frantically folding clothing and William squirming.

"I've never done it alone before…" Sherlock finally muttered.

"Perfect opportunity to take over, dear."

"But —"

"You're not going to hurt him." 

Sherlock looked down at his button-up blouse; he wasn't dressed for bathing a child. "You can change your clothes." Moriarty commented, once again reading his beloved's mind. 

The sleuth thought about grumbling, but he always acknowledged James' authority when he plucked answers out of his brain, "Fine, I'll see you when you're done." He hefted William over his shoulder, "Let's clean you up, hmm?" 

Soon enough, the detective had found his jeans and t-shirt, and had William in the tub, the room smelling faintly of strawberries. 

"Warm enough?" He asked, the baby splashing around in the shallow bubbles, "Seems so." He began to scrub down his soft skin, "I adore you, little one."

William brought his hands down hard against the water's surface, splashing both of them. Sherlock waited for a few drops to slide out of his hair before wiping off his face, suds dripping down both of their ringlets, "You did that on purpose." 

"I'm sure he didn't, honey." Moriarty said, slinking into the bathroom.

"I was being sentimental and he ruined it, how was that not purposeful?" 

"He isn't as aware as you'd like to think," James said, easing William closer to him as he kneeled next to the tub. 

It was then that Sherlock realized Jim had changed into casual clothes, meaning he was planning to take over, "No, I can do this." 

"All of a sudden taking charge… should I be worried?" Jim teased, beginning to wash the child's hair.

"No… I just want to be useful." 

"You are." Moriarty said in such a way that Sherlock truly _believed_ it. 

"Can I help at all?" 

James smiled, "Why don't you get between his toes?" 

 


	6. Such is Being Married to a Consulting Criminal

Bursting into the hotel room, it was a wonder they had gone _this_ long without tearing each others' clothes off. They fell roughly onto the bed, fingers fumbling with the buttons on each other's shirts, dragging their suit jackets off each other. 

 _No matter the years…_ Jim thought, _Sherlock's body is still so perfect… Capturing my thoughts, my dreams, my desires… Even I thought he'd have lost his mystery by now… But there will never be anyone else. He's all I've ever seen, really…_

Despite the urgency, they still proceed slowly, savoring every moment. 

"I love you." James whispers. 

"I know." And he does. Just as James knows, whether or not it's said aloud, that Sherlock loves him. More than he was ever aware he was capable. 

 _I can't imagine life gets more perfect than_ this _…_ Sherlock thinks, Moriarty working his belt open, prying his slacks off and pouncing back on top of him, locked in another bout of feverish kissing, _Jim…_ his mind gives over helplessly. In this moment, all that he is resides in this room.

They are the same. Jim, Sherlock… these are arbitrary labels. It means nothing, they share everything: every trait, every thought, a brain, and despite the sentimental fatalities, believe they were always meant to do this. To be each other's. 

Sherlock forgets everything, letting Jim's lips wander his bare skin, like a sidewinder gliding across cool evening sand. Wherever he's touched, his skin burns with _need_.

Somewhere far, far away, he hears a text chime.

Jim traces his hips lightly with his fingertips as his mouth works down the detective's chest.

And then his phone started ringing.

Sherlock flips them over, hissing, " _Tease_ ," under his breath. He begins sucking on Jim's exposed neck. 

Ringing.

Jim's faint cologne was doing absolutely atrocious things to (what was left of) Sherlock's mental processing. 

Ringing.

He worked off Moriarty's trousers, feeling up his thin thighs —

Ringing.

 _Dammit, what could anyone want RIGHT NOW?_ They both continued to ignore it, trying to stay lost in each other's flesh. 

Ringing.

Finally it stopped. But something was wrong, "Kinda killed the mood…" James huffed, rolling off of Sherlock, "Must be your little doctor pet, knickers in a twist about something or other." Text chime. 

Rolling his eyes, the detective picked up the phone, "I'll make sure he knows what he interrupted." 

6 missed calls. Two texts. 

 

 _Sherlock, you're going to want to pick up the phone. -JW_  

_Vatican Cameos!!!! -JW_

 

Another text chime. 

He dropped the phone, color draining from his face faster than any vacuum could've taken it, as he read the third text:

 

_They were taken… Mary and the children… -JW_


	7. A Consulting Criminal Loathes Only One Goodbye

**[6 hours prior to departure]**

 

"It's okay, pretty baby." Jim shook a rattle at William, who had been fussing in his cradle, "We'll be back before you know it." 

"Again, James, he's a little too young to understand we're leaving." Sherlock had been standing nearby, trying to separate himself from the aching pain of letting his child out of his protection for the first time since his birth.

"Oh hush, I'm trying to be comforting." 

Sherlock sighed and picked up the baby, his wavy hair bouncing a little, "It'll all be okay." He said, more toward Moriarty and himself than William, the latter of whom had just swiped the rattle and begun gnawing on it, "Teething isn't a life-threatening condition." 

"I know, Sherlock… I just can't help but worry."

"He'll be safe, I promise." He said, patting the child's back as he rested against Sherlock's lapel.

"Yes, I know. There are few people I trust more to keep a child safe than one of my _former assassins_."

"That means she's well trained to kill anyone that threatens her happiness." 

"And that her loyalties can be _bought_."

"James, she's moved past that. Besides, you wouldn't let her watch William if you thought she'd sell us out."

"I, too, can be wrong sometimes, Sherly."

"And that's about as humble as you get." 

At this, James made a sour face, "Doesn't hurt to be cautious." 

"Never imagined that you'd be an over-protective parent." Sherlock chuckled.

"Yes, one moment, let me just _forget_ that there are hundreds, if not _thousands_ of individuals out there who'd like me dead."

"Who mostly have no idea you even _exist_!" The detective said exasperatedly, trying not to disturb the child on his shoulder, "To most, 'Moriarty' is not a man, he is an idea. Carrying on that point, 'Holmes-Moriarty' is very much unheard of." 

"Fair enough." Moriarty sucked in his bottom lip, "Come on, we need to get him to John and Mary's."

"Hopefully he'll get along with their little one…" Sherlock said, rocking William gently.

" _Our_ boy? _Please_ , I bet he's a charmer." Moriarty snaked a hand around his lover's waist, "Don't worry, daddy won't let anything happen to you… either of you." 


	8. The Price of Celebrity

Upon reading the text, James leapt out of bed and pulled out every electronic device he had brought. Immediately, he was making phone calls. Sending emails. Arranging to catch the next flight back to England. 

Sherlock wanted to call John back, but found his fingers numb. Hyperventilating. _Maybe into shock?_ His mind had stopped working, curled up into a ball, still wearing boxers and an unbuttoned dress shirt. _Never before has a case been so… close to home. I… for the second time in my life, I doubt my ability to do my job…_  

Moriarty clearly didn't have that issue, finishing up whatever call he was currently on with an angry growl. He began meticulously re-packing their suitcases, pulling out a change of clothing for Sherlock and laying them neatly at his feet, dressing himself in the process. 

Sherlock blinked in and out, but at some point, room service arrives with several different dishes, ranging from breakfast to dessert. "Eat." Jim said flatly; he didn't mean to come across as cold, but he couldn't allow himself to feel any emotions until everything was _done_. 

_I was gifted with the distinct ability to separate myself from a situation, and my brain continues to dictate that I put getting the job done above all else. Thankfully, the_ job _involves rescuing my baby son. And maybe the doctor's sniveling family, if expedient. Speaking of which, I will need to interrogate him in person… if the kidnappers didn't leave a ransom note, and no one has called —_ these thoughts continued. Sherlock didn't move.

Finally, when everything was ready to go, he flopped down next to the detective, letting his arms curl around his waist. Jim began playing with his curls, a calming act for him. 

"Please, love…" he murmured soothingly in Sherlock's ear, "We're not going to have a lot of down-time in the next few days, if it takes that long… you need to eat now."

Still, Sherlock didn't respond. 

"We have a flight out in three hours. Unfortunately, we couldn't get to England much faster than half a day, even when I was cutting the layovers to the bare minimums… if only I had access to light speed…" he mused. For another twenty minutes or so, Jim continued to have a one-sided conversation, slowly trying to maneuver Sherlock out of his stupor. 

It was trying on his patience, but seeing his pet so… _damaged,_ something nurturing was triggered in him. 

"What… what's going on?" Sherlock finally choked out, openly weeping, eyes fixed on James. He wanted to know this was all a hoax. A joke. Some weird fluke, that people would _die_ for a prank so foul. Or that the consulting criminal could easily usurp control over the situation — _he practically runs England, right? Maybe the world?_  

But the world wouldn't bend. Not this time.

"It seems, my love…" Jim put on his deranged-yet-happy demeanor, but tears clearly welled up in his eyes, "The game is never over." 

 


End file.
